


Let Justice Be Done

by ShhImWriting



Series: Paulkins Count of Monte Cristo AU [2]
Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alcohol, Also he loves Emma, Angst, Betrayal, But theres also a lot of murder and bitterness that buries that, Comfort, F/M, Get ready for Period Drama!Paulkins, Healing, Hidgens was once a priest so God help us all, I ended up starting a whole fic for the Count of Monte Cristo AU, Implied Sexual Content, Lies, Manipulation, PTSD, Paul Matthews is a SIMP, Paul is a sweetheart who can commit revenge as a treat, Revenge, SO, Scars, Sedition, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27611243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShhImWriting/pseuds/ShhImWriting
Summary: After being ripped away from the love of his life and a promising future and being thrown into prison for several years on false charges, Paul Matthews becomes willing to do anything to have his revenge on those who wronged him.Now, as he comes into possession of a glorious treasure, he leaves the name Paul Matthews in a nonexistent grave as he rises under the new guise of the Count of Monte Cristo.And he will have his revenge.He’ll deliver hell to their doorstep.Basically, I caved and started writing the full-fic of my Count of Monte Cristo AU!!!
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Series: Paulkins Count of Monte Cristo AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020787
Comments: 20
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote that one shot and then ended up starting a whole fic. So that happened. I’ve already planned out all the chapters to this one though, and they’re gonna be much shorter than the ones in my other fic (WHICH I PROMISE IM STILL WORKING ON).  
> However, that being said, the updates for this one might not be as frequent as the ones for my other one, but this idea has been living rent free in my brain since I posted that first one-shot.
> 
> I really hope you guys like it!!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up for some monologuing

This is a story of many talents. 

It is a tale of betrayal. 

It is a tale of lust. 

It is a tale of adventure. 

It is a tale of torment. 

It is a tale of bitterness. 

It is a tale of jealousy.

It is a tale of waiting.

It is a tale of loss.

It is a tale of fellowship. 

It is a tale of love. 

It is a tale of revenge. 

In all of its abilities and talents, this story will convey to you the misadventures of a man whose good fortune was ripped away by the lust for power of others. A man whose supposed friendships led him to a downfall and a lifetime in the cold and dark. 

This story will convey to you the knowledge of man’s character and nature. 

Despite the loss and pain that wracked the man’s soul, the deliberate and meticulous planning in which he aimed to take back what was rightfully his and bring justice to run down like blood. 

It is a story of lovers ripped apart by fate, and stitched together again by the human spirit. Lost through time and weathered against by grief, like a stone upon the beach, the two remain true, despite the visage life presented them with. 

Though the powers of that vengeful Goddess, Nemesis, are terrible in all of their might, this story of justice bears far more weight. 

As what was once dead is returned to life, a man battles against the waves of life to let justice run like waters. 

Though the world deemed Paul Matthews dead and kept spinning, a new man arose-not only to reclaim his life- but to make those who wronged him face the weight of their actions. 

They may not remember his face or his name, but they will remember what they’d done to murder and bury Paul Matthews. 

In the place of a dead man stands a Count. 

And he will have his revenge. 

Let justice be done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I’m traveling at the moment and I had a lot of free time to start writing this.  
> I really hope you guys like this AU, because I am a ✨sucker ✨ for period dramas and Paulkins, so I was really excited to start writing this.  
> This is based off of the Wildhorn musical as well as the 2002 movie of TCOMC story-wise, rather than the novel (because if I did that, it would be extremely convoluted in a way I don’t have time for. I’ve already got one convoluted fic, and that’s all I can handle at the moment😂). 
> 
> Please leave comments or kudos to let me know what you think!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you all have a wonderful day!!!
> 
> My Tumblr: @ShhImAvoidingSleep


	2. When Love is True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul is granted good fortune as he returns home to the love of his life.  
> However, he is unwitting that his closest friend is wishing him ill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter titles for this story follow the names of the songs from the musical (which slaps), so the title comes from the song “When Love is True” of course.
> 
> I really hope you guys like this!!!
> 
> !!!TRIGGER WARNING!!!: Alcohol, Implied sexytimes in the third section, Ted’s kinda a creep with no respect for women (mainly insensitive remarks and advances, nothing major)

Paul smiled as the fresh sea air flooded his senses. 

At the helm of their ship, he recognized the familiar scents of France as they pulled forward, towards the docks. The mixture of spices and fish markets, as well as the mid-summer flowers welcoming him home. 

He straightened his jacket nervously, the news they had to bear weighing heavily on his chest. He knew the risks associated with what he had done, and though it had done little to no good for the subject of his decision, he had still made his choice. 

As the ship was pulled into the ship year, he turned to Sam Danglars, the ship’s first mate, who only narrowed his eyes at him. Of course, he knew that Sam was disproving of his decision to go ashore whilst Mr. Davidson, their captain had been ill. Still, Paul knew that Mr. Davidson was a good man with a family, who deserved a second chance at life. Even if it had been all for not in the end. 

He flinched as a body slapped into his, nudging him. He looked up and smiled slightly at the sight of his best friend, Theodore Mondego, his dark hair slicked back neatly and the neat mustard shade of his coat shining in the sunlight. 

“You’ll be fine, Paul,” he nodded, a small smile on his face, “Tom is an understanding fellow.”

“I know,” he nodded, hating the nervous tone his voice took on, “But it was still an unadvisable choice.”

“Who cares what Danglars thinks?” Ted sighed as he leaned against the railing of the ship, his eyes nonchalant as he examined his fingers, “Davidson was dying and you wanted to give him his best chance...there’s no harm in that.” 

“Yes,” Paul spoke quietly, “But what good did it do in the end?” 

Ted snorted, “I suppose you’re correct, but what’s the worst Tom can do? You’re a good worker, and Sam is knowledgeable of that.”

“He could fire me!” Paul reasoned, “I made a choice that our first mate didn’t like!” 

“Okay, so there’s that…” Ted reasoned, his voice sounding slightly nonchalant, “But I don’t think it could get worse than that.”

Paul inhaled and exhaled sharply. The decision was one that he made for the good of their Captain, who’d contracted brain fever unexpectedly. They’d been sailing around the coast of Italy when Davidson had fallen ill, and they knew that the Isle of Elba was home to one of the best physicians in Europe. 

There was, of course, the problem that the physician was that of the Emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte, who was kept there by the British forces. He knew it was foolish to go ashore and attempt to gain permission. They knew it might as well have been suicide, but Davidson was a captain and a friend, and Paul was loyal. They’d even encountered the Emperor himself.

Paul’s hand went to the letter the Emperor had given him, concealed in his coat pocket. He’d sworn to deliver the letter to a Monsieur Clarion, and not tell anyone, including Ted about it. Not that it mattered to him, he’d been willing to do anything for the price of the physician.

Unfortunately, after falling asleep while the physician attended to their captain, they’d been informed that their captain had died and it was time for them to leave. His heart ached for the widow of Mr. Davidson and the news that would be brought back with them. He could only hope that he hadn’t jeapardized what he’d spent the past few years of his life working for. 

So, they’d sailed back to Marseilles, without a captain and with a very angry Sam Danglars, who’d thought it all to be folly. 

As the deck was made accessible to the port and they were given license to leave, he took note of the shipping company’s owner, Tom Houston, stepping onto the deck, making a beeline for Sam. 

He nervously tapped his clenched fists together as he overheard the conversation. 

“First mate, Danglars,” Tom greeted gruffly, “Might I have a word with Captain Davidson?” 

Paul sharply took in a deep breath. 

“I’m afraid Captain Davidson is dead, and young Matthews disobeyed my orders,” Sam almost snapped, casting a glare in Paul's direction.

Paul suddenly felt very small as Tom looked over at him. 

“You and the young Matthews, report to my office,” Tom spoke, “Immediately.”

Ted stepped forward, “Will you require me, sir?” 

Tom shook his head, “You attend to your duties accordingly, Mondego.” 

Ted slinked backward, his eyes turned downward. Paul tried to offer his friend a smile as his friend picked up his knapsack and made his way off of the boat, leaving Paul to the mercy of Tom and Sam. 

“Paul, Danglars,” Tom barked, “My office. Now.”

With a heavy sigh, Paul dragged his feet off of the boat and followed the two men into the offices that occupied a small stone building beside the shipyard.

Tom had inherited the shipping business from his father a few years before, shortly before his wife, Jane had died. Paul had known Tom before he’d taken a job up with him, through knowing Jane and her sister...Emma. 

_Emma._

His heart swelled at the thought of the woman he loved more than anything else in the world. 

He’d been away from her for too long. 

He’d wanted to marry her since he’d been given the privilege of courting her. At the same time, however, he was the son of a clerk. With hardly any prospects, he knew he had to at the very least earn a job where he could make her proud to have him as a husband. 

He only hoped his actions whilst they were on the ship hadn’t jeopardized that.

Tom closed the door behind him as they were led into the office and gestured to the two chairs that sat opposite his desk. 

“Have a seat gentlemen, and inform me of Mr. Matthews’ actions please.”

Paul swallowed hard as he almost fell into his seat. Sam grinned smugly at him, almost like he was waiting for Tom to bring down the axe on Paul’s job and life with the company. 

He listened to Sam’s account of his actions at Elba, which were...strangely enough accurate. Considering how Sam Danglars was known to be a pathological liar, Paul was worried that he would be listening to a hyperbolic account of what he and Ted had done in their fetching of a physician. Of course, Sam’s tone made it sound like Paul and Ted had murdered the magistrates of the town and displayed their heads in public in the way he used the words like ‘disobey’ and ‘orders’, but the story was straight as it was. 

Paul didn’t dare look up at Tom’s face as he listened. While he and Tom were both in a mutually friendly stance when it came to their personal lives, Tom was still technically Paul’s boss, and he had the power to end Paul’s career if he so desired. 

“Ah,” Tom spoke calmly as Sam finished his story, “I see. So, you found a doctor?”

“And Captain Davidson died all the same, sir, yes,” Sam finished, nodding along, “And young Matthews nearly destroyed our whole operation. I warned him that his idea was foolish-”

“His idea…” Tom interrupted calmly, “...Should have been yours.”

Pauls head shot up in confusion. Had he heard that right?

Sam’s face wavered, “Wh-what? I’m sorry?” 

“You heard me,” Tom leaned back in his chair before removing a quill from an ink pot on his desk, writing on a stack of papers he withdrew from the drawers of his desk, “Young Matthews showed great tenacity in attempting to save Captain Davidson’s life, God rest his soul.”

“B-but,” Sam sputtered, “He endangered the whole mission.” 

“Really?” Tom raised an eyebrow, “Given your record when you’re at the helm of the ship, it’s a major surprise that the cargo made it back here to Marseilles in one piece.” 

“I...I was protecting the cargo!” Sam exclaimed. 

“No,” Tom spoke calmly, setting his quill down, “You were protecting yourself. Paul showed major guts by looking for a doctor...on Elba of all places.”

Sam said nothing as Tom continued to speak. 

“Which is why,” Tom sealed a stack of papers together in an envelope with a wax seal, “I am making Paul captain of _The Coven_.”

Paul’s eyes widened and he looked up, searching for a sign of joking in Tom’s eyes, but found none. 

Sam stood quickly, rage in his eyes, “You dare to demote me?” 

“There’s no demotion…” Tom said calmly, his face blank as he stared up, “You’ll still be first mate ...just under Paul Matthews.” 

Paul looked at Tom, his eyes still wide as shock and vague joy settled into his veins. He was captain? Could this truly be happening? 

Sam shook his head in anger, leaving the room with a slam of the door. 

Tom looked unbothered by this as he passed a stack of papers into Paul’s arms, “Congratulations, Paul, you deserve this.”

“Th-thank you, Tom,” Paul stammered, shaking the man’s hand as he stood. 

Tom smiled warmly, a hint of mischief in his eyes, “You’re welcome…Now, I believe my sister-in-law is just dying to hear this good news.”

Paul met Tom’s gaze as a smile crossed his face. 

In promoting Paul, Tom knew he was giving him the chance he needed to marry Emma and give her a life she would be deserving of. Tom was close to his sister-in-law, especially in the years that followed Jane’s death, so he knew how insistent Paul was on marrying Emma. Though Paul didn’t necessarily know whether or not Tom liked him, he did know that he valued Emma’s happiness. 

Paul shook Tom’s hand again, his eyes filled with genuine joy as her firmly reciprocated, “Thank you, Tom, really.”

“It’s no problem,” Tom shrugged with a grin, “Now, if I recall, Emma has been missing you for the past few months and is impatient to see you.”

His heartbeat picked up speed at the thought of his beloved. He’d missed her dearly over the course of the past few months. Her eyes and smile were a source of joy for him in the days where the sea would be violent and hateful. The memory of their plan, and their love was something he looked forward to with each and every single passing day. 

Now, he was able to hold her and kiss her again. 

Now they didn’t have to wait a few years to get married. 

He smiled and bowed respectfully at Tom and exited the office, ready to find the love of his life and give her the good news. 

He knew she would be there. She always was there, waiting impatiently to see him before their ship had ever reached the harbor. 

His heart was light as he walked with a spring in his step, eager to find her at their usual meeting place. His heart could only sing one song, and it was her name. 

Emma.

\---

Emma bounced her knee excitedly as the carriage pulled towards the docks. Through the curtained-off windows, she could see the ship docking in the distance, making her heart beat almost obnoxiously fast inside her chest. 

The day was summery and bright, a perfect reflection of how she felt. 

It was taking every ounce of her self-control not to yell at the driver to go faster. She wanted so desperately to see him. 

It had been too many months since she’d seen Paul last. Ever since he and Ted had embarked on their latest journey, she’d been counting down the days since their appointed return. 

How she’d missed his blue eyes. Those innocent and kind eyes that had made her feel like everything was going to be alright. Now, here she was, approaching the ship that had housed him for those long, agonizing months. 

As the carriage pulled to a stop, she could see people offloading the cargo from the ship. As pulled open the door and burst free, her eyes searching the sea of people that she could see, searching for a tall and lanky figure that she’d fallen in love with, she was filled with a sense of giddiness.

They’d made a plan together. 

Two more years. 

Two more years and he’d have enough to afford a ring and be high enough in a position where they could get married. 

A great part of her was desperate and impatient. She didn’t care that he was the son of a mere store clerk, or that he was a sailor with little money. She loved Paul enough to marry him now, but being the proper man that he tried to be, he was determined to have enough money where he could provide for them and give them a proper wedding.  
She’d laughed at the idea, but if it was something he valued, then she would agree. 

“Emma!” 

She turned around to see Ted Mondego, carrying a knapsack behind him, freshly returned from the waters of Europe where he and Paul had been sailing with her brother-in-law’s shipping company for several months. She didn’t quite enjoy his company, but he was Paul’s dearest friend, and therefore being with him came by default. 

“Where is he?” she asked impatiently. 

Ted snorted, “Well, hello to you as well.” 

“Where’s Paul?” she repeated, her eyes scanning the populace as she began to make her way towards the cliffside rocks, where they always met one another after one of his voyages. 

“Danglars and he went to Tom’s offices,” Ted informed her matter-of-factly, “I think he’s in trouble.” 

“What kind of trouble?” she asked as she adjusted her bonnet, “He’s not fired is he?” 

“I don’t know,” Ted shrugged, “But Danglars was angry.” 

She sighed. To be honest, it surprised her that anybody could stand Sam Danglars. With his asshole attitude and smug aura, she never was able to appreciate his presence anywhere. 

As she came to the small rocks at the edge of the cliffs and took her seat, staring out to the harbor as ships entered and took their leave. The white-capped water forming waves elegantly as they crashed upon the shore. 

She only cared that Paul was home safe and happy. The past few months had been agonizingly slow in her waiting. Not that she was ever a very patient woman to begin with. 

Ted took his seat beside her, close in a way that she wasn’t comfortable with. 

“How long until he can afford to marry you?” Ted asked, his voice sounding smug, like he possessed an end he wanted to meet. She recognized his tone as they had this conversation before. 

“Two years,” she answered, keeping her eyes out on the sea. 

“Two years?” Ted let out a low whistle, “He’s a more patient man than I...I wouldn’t be able to wait two years for a bride like you.”

“Ted, we’ve had this conversation before, and the answer is still no,” she uttered, unwilling to have this conversation again. 

“Why not?” He snorted, sitting up and rolling his eyes, “Emma, he could never provide for you in the way that I can…”

“Yes, but could you love me in the ways that he can?” she snapped back, looking at him, her eyes serious, “Honestly, Ted.” 

“I mean,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, making her roll her eyes, “I could.”

“No, you couldn’t,” she snapped decisively, having had enough with Ted’s advances, “Which is why I love him and not you.”

Ted sighed and leaned back. He opened his mouth to speak, possibly to tell her how she was making a mistake or how he was probably more suitable (both things she would have ignored), when she heard the sound of her name.

“Emma?”

She smiled as the sound of a familiar voice echoed off of the rocks, reaching her ears and making her heart beat faster. 

She scrambled off of the rocks and turned to see the familiar, tall and lanky form of the love of her life. She grinned as a small sound of laughter escaped her lips as they made eye contact. The two of them bounded towards one another arms open.

A disbelieving laugh left her lips as she enveloped him in a warm hug and he picked her up off of her feet, holding her close in his elated embrace. 

He pressed kisses to her shoulder and neck as he swung her around, laughing into her skin, making her smile wider. 

He smelled of sweat and salt water, but she didn’t care. He smelled of home, no matter how far away he’d been. More importantly, he was home. Safe and sound and in her arms again.

He set her down gently as her fingers threaded into his hair, pulling his face down to meet her lips in an insistent and eager kiss. He tasted of several months of sea travel and longing that had characterized her thoughts and dreams over a long period of time. 

He broke away and cupped her face, inspecting her face as if taking in every feature. She giggled as her hands ran through the softness of his hair. 

“Emma,” he whispered, as if her name were his favorite word. 

“Paul,” she responded with a small laugh. 

“I’m home,” he whispered, before meeting her lips again. 

“Yes you are,” she whispered into his kiss with a soft smile. 

Every time he went away she tried not to think of how long it would be before he would return, for she had faith that he would.

In some way, she supposed, the waiting made the return all the more sweeter. 

As she broke away from his kiss, he smiled bigger, a sense of excitement blossoming in his bright blue eyes. 

“Guess what?” he whispered, his voice elated. 

She hummed in response, too happy to consider anything else for the moment. She was drowning in joy at the mere sight of him. The sensation of being in his arms again bringing her so much happiness she couldn’t think straight. 

“You won’t have to wait two years,” he whispered. 

Her eyes widened and she pulled back, a small disbelieving smile growing across her face “What?” 

He held up a sealed set of papers, bearing the company seal with a wide grin. 

“Tom gave me _the Coven_ ,” he whispered excitedly, “You’re looking at the newest captain in Houston Shipping and Company.” 

Emma was smilig so big her face began to hurt, “Really?”

Paul nodded excitedly, his eyes wide as if he couldn’t understand the happiness behind his words. 

Within a spur of a moment, she leapt into his arms, hugging him tightly, laughing as she did. 

This meant that he’d been promoted to a station where they could soon afford to be married. The idea was intoxicating as pure bliss filled her heart. 

She pressed a kiss aginst his lips again, excitement blossoming like the flowers she admired in the peak of springtime. 

He chuckled against her lips and eagerly reciprocated her kiss, cupping her jaw gently as he did. Their kiss was gentle and loving. Slow and tender in the way they practically worshipped and honored one another through a simple kiss.

When they broke apart, however, Paul’s face fell slightly. She turned to look over her shoulder and found an unamused looking Ted. 

“Congratulations, Paul,” Ted murmured, gripping his small bottle of whiskey tightly, “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

Paul smiled slightly, as if he was picking up on the flat tone in Ted’s voice, “Thank you...you do know you’re still the best man, right?” 

Ted nodded and turned on his heel, without another word, leaving the couple behind. 

Emma rolled her eyes at his antics and pulled Paul back down to meet her lips insistently, smiling as warmth grew in her heart, making her dizzy and joyful. 

He was home.

She nodded in the direction of the abandoned beach which lined the bottom of the cliffs as the afternoon sunlight cast its glow. 

“Let’s go.” 

He smiled down at her, a fondness in his eyes that made her insides feel like they were doing cartwheels in her chest. 

With his arm around her, holding one another tightly, they set off in the direction of the beach. 

\---

Though the sand against their bare skin was cool, he had never felt warmer.

The sun was setting against the shades of vibrant gold and orange that painted the sky, making the sea appear as though it was a silk sheet of dark blue that went into the horizon and never ended. The shades of the sky began to descend into darkness, revealing several stars as night was cast across the coast.

The lights from the city above them cast a golden glow down upon the beach, where he and Emma remained in one another’s arms, holding one another closer than before. This part of the beach was always abandoned due to the presence of rocks and the closeness to the cliffs, which is why it was one of his and Emma’s favorite places to go when they wanted to be alone.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, tracing patterns up and down her mostly bare back. Her skin was warm against his hands, making him smile into her hair.

The part of him that was a hopeless romantic wished he could have remained there with her forever. In her arms, he felt like there was no place he would rather be.

She ran her hand gently up and down his chest smiling into his skin.

“What are you thinking about?” She whispered, not looking up at him as she studied the pattern of veins that ran up his forearm which rested across his chest, loosely holding on to her other hand.

He sighed blissfully, “I can’t believe this is happening,” he whispered into her dark curls, “Just yesterday I was counting down the days until I had enough to give you something to be proud of, and now…”

He laughed, unsure of how to finish that sentence. He was too happy for any of this to be real. It all seemed like a blissful dream in which he worried that if he closed his eyes it would all disappear.

Emma lightly slapped his chest and playfully glared up at him, “I’ve always been proud of you.”

“I know,” he sighed, “I just want to be worthy of you.”

She snickered, “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.”

He smiled as she nestled closer into his neck pressing a light kiss to his pulse as she went. He tightened his grip around her gently, closing his eyes to soak up her presence. There were moments while he was with her, when he felt like he could do anything. Like maybe he could go beyond the aspirations of being a mere sea captain.

He always felt like he was incandescently happy when he was with her.

She made him feel strong. It was simple.

“As soon as I can afford a ring, Emma, I promise you-“ he began, before being cut off.

“I don’t need a ring,” she said quickly, looking up at him, her eyes completely serious, “I could have a mere string or strand of hay and call that my wedding ring…it doesn’t matter as long as I have you.”

His heart beat faster as he took in the completely serious nature of her face.

“Look,” she said, scrambling around with her hand until she found something in the sand. In the glow of the city lights, he could see that it was a wire of sorts. The sort of thing that someone would find on the back of a painting frame.

“Let this be my ring,” she smiled, holding it up, “I guarantee it’s unlike any other.”

He laughed as he gently took it from her hand, using his other to hold her hand tenderly.

“Emma...are you…”

“I’m certain,” she affirmed, smiling at him as she propped herself up with her other arm, “I don’t want a ring, Paul, I just want you.”

He felt like he could cry as he looked up at her.

“Well then,” he whispered, his voice shaky.

Gently, he sat up, holding her hand in one of his and the wire in his other.

Carefully, he bent the wire and wound it around her left ring finger, looping it around so it wasn’t too tight, and twisting the ends together so it resembled a small rose on the end.

He smiled at her, tears forming in his eyes.

“Emma Perkins,” he whispered, preparing the question he’d been waiting to ask her since he’d pretty much met her, “Would you do me the honor...of taking me for your husband?”

An excited smile grew across her face, contorting in that playful half-grin he’d fallen in love with.

For a moment, she just stared at him, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes as her smile grew.

After a while, she nodded, “Yes...yes of course, you wonderful idiot.”

He laughed in disbelief as the words came out of her mouth, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to meet him. 

His lips met hers passionately, deepening almost instantly. She sighed into his mouth, laughing against his lips as he pulled her closer so that she was almost on top of him. Reveling in the feeling of her hands through his hair as she reciprocated every touch he offered her. 

Yes, he knew he could never be happier than he was now.

All that mattered in that moment was him and Emma.

The promises they’d made underneath those few visible stars were burned into his mind. He’d never forget them, nor would she.

Their love was as true and as constant as the stars above. 

As the sun took his leave, and the hush of night enveloped their earth, they could see and feel only one another. Warm and welcoming as they worked to revere one another as the splendor of the night made itself known.

Loving one another in every way they could.

—-

Ted kicked mindlessly at a rock as he traversed down the street, taking sloppy swigs at his drink as he did. 

Night had already fallen, leaving the street lamps to light the streets as he stumbled around the pavement. The warmth of the midsummer night had allowed him to abandon his coat and take on the stance of a common drunkard as he consumed as much wine as he could.

He couldn’t believe it.

The righteous son of a _clerk_. 

A second class citizen.

A man who couldn’t even read had been made captain of one of the most formidable shipping vessels in Marseilles. 

Better yet, he’d been chosen by the most desirable woman in town to be taken on as a husband.

He’d known Paul since childhood, and been in his company since before his mother had passed, and it always confused him so how the man could have so little in his life and still act like he had everything. 

Paul was naive, he knew. His actions on Elba had, of course, revealed as such. But in spite of this, he still managed to prosper.

Ted had noble blood. His father was a Count.  
Paul didn’t. His father was a clerk.

And yet somehow, Paul was more fortunate than anyone he’d ever encountered.

It was this fact that made most of his sober encounters with the man who’d called him ‘friend’ unpleasant. 

Every time he looked at Paul, he was filled with disdain and bitterness. If there was a taste he felt could describe the way he looked at Paul, he would compare it to the taste of piss (not that he actually knew what that tasted like- at least...he was pretty sure).

He took one final swig of his drink before tossing the empty bottle out into the street, not stopping to listen to the sound of the glass breaking against the paved path. Another tavern was a little ways ahead, he could get another drink there.

Eventually he came to another seedy-looking building, which smelled of alcohol and dark deeds that would make his mother weep. He smiled as he recognized the tavern and stepped inside.

In a blur of moments, he’d say down at the bar and ordered a bottle of brandy. It wasn’t his favorite, of course, but it was still a drink.

“Hello, stranger,” a familiar voice entered his ears. He turned to see the disgusting face of Sam Danglars, the ship’s first-mate, “Rough day?”

“Why would you care?” He snapped as he poured himself a glass of brandy, drinking it quickly.

Sam chuckled, “I see we’ve both lost a great deal to Paul Matthews.”

“What makes you say that?” Ted slurred, attempting to see where the piss pots would be through his blurred vision.

Sam laughed and took a big sip from his own drink, “A man only drinks like that if he’s mourning something. Considering how all your relatives are in excellent health, I’d say you’re mourning your pride.”

Ted let out a humorless laugh.

“How could you ever call that self-righteous son of a bitch your friend?” Sam pried, tilting his head in confusion.

“ _Friend,”_ Ted spat, “He gets everything in the world despite having nothing- _coming from nothing_ …”

He shook his head with a sigh, “And he gets this whole _secret letter_ from Napoleon...gets Emma...gets everything I want…”

Sam whistled lowly and leaned in closer.

“ _Secret letter?_ ” He hissed, smiling widely like a mask at carnival, “Do tell…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paul Matthews is a good man. Period.  
> Paul Matthews is also a simp for Emma, who loves him so much.  
> Ted however, is a fake friend and a sleazeball...so Paul needs to watch his back.
> 
> Also...fuck Sam.
> 
> Please leave comments and/or kudos if you would like!!! 
> 
> Like I said, I’m still working on another one of my ongoing fics so the updates for this one might not be as often as the updates for that one, but I will not abandon either.
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! HAVE A BLESSED DAY!!!
> 
> My Tumblr: @ShhImAvoidingSleep


	3. A Story Told

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma reflects on her love for Paul before their happiness is brought to a screeching halt and their lives come crashing down around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was really easy to write, so it came a lot sooner than I anticipated, so yay! 
> 
> !!TRIGGER WARNING!!: Trio of Bastards alert, alcohol, corrupt individuals, wrongful arrest

“Here’s to the happy couple!!” Paul’s father almost bellowed, holding up a glass of what wine they could afford.

Emma leaned her head against Paul’s shoulder as she lifted her glass with a content sigh.

They were at Paul’s father’s home, where they were celebrating Paul’s promotion and their subsequent engagement, both of which had been news of excellence in the eyes of Monsieur Matthews. They couldn’t afford a major engagement party, so they’d decided a small affair was perfect. Inviting only Ted to join them in their celebration, as Paul wasn’t one with many friends. Emma wasn’t either, and Tom and Tim were attending to business whilst in town, so it was just the four of them in the small Matthews dining room.

Since the engagement yesterday, she’d been in a state of pure joy. She’d yet to remove the little wire ring he’d wound around her finger with care. Every time she glanced down at it, she was reminded that she had devoted her life to Paul and that he had done the same for her. The ring that they’d made together signified to her that he was happy and willing to be called hers, and she was happy to be called his.

“May your good fortune never cease!” Paul’s father continued, “May God smile down upon you, my son...and Emma?”

She smiled up at the man who she hoped would be her father-in-law one day.

“Keep him in line, dear,” his father laughed before smiling warmly at her, “I never thought I would ever find anyone for my son that could make him so happy...but when I see him with you, it’s like the world is made of bliss itself.”

Paul pressed a light kiss to her hair, making her smile and nestle closer. She nodded in thanks, paying Ted no mind as he took another swig of his drink before the toast was up. 

Paul’s father held up his glass and looked at his son, a warm sort of understanding on his face, “I couldn’t have asked for a more hard-working, more honest son, Paul. I am very proud of you.”

“Everything you grant me merit for, I owe to you,” Paul laughed, smiling up at his father in an earnest way. 

The old man laughed with a small shake of his head, “I could only teach you so much, your willingness to learn and work hard came from yourself.” 

Paul looked like he was about to object, as he was proud of his father but the old man held up a hand to silence his protests, “I’ve done what I can to teach you, but the man you are today is entirely up to you...because of that, I admire you, and I wish you all the best in life.”

Ted held up his glass in concurrence, “To Paul and Emma.” 

They all clinked their glasses together and sipped away at their wine, too excited to care about anything else in the world. 

Emma couldn’t believe how wonderful everything was for her. The plans that she’d been willing to wait for in the past few months had suddenly been accelerated. 

She’d not wanted to get married before she’d fallen in love with Paul. 

Marriage had been the speed of her sister, Jane. 

Jane had been eighteen when she’d married, already the prim and proper young lady their parents had wanted her to be. Somehow, despite their older daughter being practically perfect in every way, their younger child was wild and untamed. 

Her mother used to say that her beauty was wasted on a wild thing like her. 

It didn’t matter to her back then, if she were to grow old as a spinster. She had no problem with that. Jane’s marriage had been advantageous enough, and she’d had a son within two years of marrying Tom. Her parents were so overjoyed at their good fortune and support they were receiving, that they almost didn’t care what Emma did in her youth. 

Emma had met Paul the year that Jane died. 

She’d been much younger than Jane. There was a seven-year difference between the two of them, which separated them in their ability to act like loving sisters. Still, there was no denying the fact that Emma very much looked up to Jane and admired her for all that she was. Jane never bore any ill will towards Emma and encouraged many of Emma’s exploits in learning for herself. 

She’d already made the acquaintance of Ted at the time since his parents were friends of hers (mainly because they would use her mother’s services as a seamstress often). Due to their relatively similar age and status, he’d tried to make himself better known to her on several visits to her home, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t until they were around thirteen years old when he’d brought along an unexpected...and wonderful...visitor. 

She could tell he was of a lower class, as her mother had taught her and Jane how to point out the characteristics of marriage they’d find advantageous, but she didn’t care. 

He possessed a tiny bit of a stutter, but she could tell that it was mostly attributed to the fact that he always seemed nervous. His floppy brown hair was trimmed neater than Ted’s was, and his eyes seemed much more observant. While she didn’t enjoy the company of Ted, she instantly decided that she liked his. 

He’d introduced himself to her, at the beckoning of Ted and stammered over every single word in the process in a way that almost endeared him to her even more. 

Despite her inclination to make fun of him, as she had almost every new person she met, she found herself smiling and extending her hand to him. 

Very soon, she found herself leaving her parent’s home to visit him, taking strolls together down the streets, evading the prying eyes of those who demanded propriety. They would walk through the public gardens, admiring every plant for its beauty, and he would listen as she pointed out each of her favorites. 

She liked that he listened. Ted never had. 

Besides, he had beautiful eyes. Those had been the thing to stick with her after every meeting, making her smile to herself every time she thought of them. In their innocence, kindness, and gentle nature, she was reminded of a calm and lovely sea, much like the one that stretched out from the expanse of Marseilles. Still, she’d decided that his eyes were most definitely lovelier. 

She’d been penning a letter to Jane to talk about him when the news had come. 

There had been an accident. 

Jane was dead. 

Something inside of her had broken that day. While she and her sister had never exactly been close, her sister was a very important part of her life. Furthermore, it had devastated her already-ill mother into a grave less than a day later.

Her father, who’d been Emma’s main ally in their household, had shut down for the most part after that, descending into grief and sadness that she was not privy to, leaving her to mourn by herself. 

People would pass by them after the passing of her mother and Jane, Ted included and would give them their lukewarm condolences, providing a false sense of sympathy. She wouldn’t give them something to pity. She wouldn’t cry before them. They didn’t deserve her tears. 

She’d been in the gardens the day before the funeral when Paul found her. 

In his eyes, she could see genuine sadness for her. Not sympathy or pity, but tenderness and understanding.

He’d opened his arms to her and allowed her something no one else had; a chance to mourn.

And in a way that was very much unlike her, she’d gone to him...and cried. 

She never cried in front of anyone before. She didn’t want to. She couldn’t afford to appear weak to her parents or peers. And yet, somehow, when he opened his arms to her, she knew it was safe to be vulnerable. 

He didn’t judge her. He didn’t give her any false reassurances or false condolences that would only give him a clean conscience. He only let her mourn in a safe place. 

She’d decided then that he was her best friend. 

Three years after Jane’s death, he confessed that he was in love with her, a notion that had puzzled her. 

How could anyone be in love with the wild Perkins daughter? 

She’d laughed at first, taking it for some kind of joke, but in his eyes and earnest expression, she saw a completely serious man. 

It sparked a kind of question inside herself. 

Did she love him? 

When she looked at the years that they had placed behind them, she could only see time after time of him being patient with her, listening to her, being there for her when her life was difficult. In some ways, she’d done the same for him, listening to him excitedly talk about his plans to work for her brother-in-law’s shipping company, watching his eyes as he listened to her read, admiring every facial expression he had that betrayed almost exactly what he was thinking. She loved to take in every single detail of his face as he went about even the most mundane of activities, his eyes, his lips, his eyebrows which crinkled when he was growing thoughtful about something. The way he would tap his fists together when he was nervous. The way he repeated words on a string as he processed new information. Every little thing he did seemed so endearing to her.

To be honest, there wasn’t a moment she’d spent with him where she didn’t feel like she was flying. 

Of course, they didn’t always agree, but that was a testament to their shared tendency for stubbornness. Even in those moments, she felt like she was at her happiest. She’d tried to think of any other explanation for the way she felt but found none. 

_Did she love him?_

Well...she wasn’t sure what love was supposed to feel like…

...but _damn_ if this wasn’t it.

She thought of this as she took a sip of her drink, intertwining his fingers with hers. His grip was soft as she sat up, running his fingers gently over her knuckles in a way that wordlessly confessed his love to her. She reveled in moments like this. Moments where words weren't necessary for them to know how much they meant to one another. Moments that were soft and quiet in spite of the noise and the rush of the world about them. 

She couldn’t have asked for anything better than this. He was home safely, he was with her, they were engaged...everything she never would have imagined for herself was playing out.

She wondered if Jane would have been proud of her. Her mother would, that was evident in the fact that she’d found a match in a Captain...but Jane had cared about her happiness. Would Jane be proud of the fact that Emma had found happiness in a life people only saw Jane fulfilling?

Her thoughts were interrupted as Paul brought her hand, still in his, up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, smiling at her as he did so. She never could have imagined this for herself. 

Being so totally in love with someone as amazing as Paul would have seemed like such a foreign concept to her.

But here they were-

Her thoughts were interrupted as the clatter of horses outside the Matthews home drew the attention away from the laughter and conversation that was being exchanged between the Older Matthews and Ted. From the sound of it, it sounded like there was more than one horseman, and the sound of shouting made her heart begin to race.

She met Paul’s eyes, finding a form of confusion crossing his gaze. His eyes didn’t leave hers as Ted stood and went to the window, looking out to see what the commotion was. 

“It’s the Gendarmes!” Ted exclaimed, his eyes wide as he took another swig of his drink. 

Emma gripped Paul’s hand tighter.

What would the armed police be doing here? 

Monsieur Matthews and Paul were some of the most honest people she’d known. Surely, the Gendarmes being here had to be a mistake of some kind. 

Paul squeezed her hand as he stood, looking to his father, “It’s probably a misunderstanding, everything will be alright.”

The words were reassuring, but the nervous look on his face was not.

As he moved to greet them, the doors to the dining room opened and several officers entered. A captain stepped forward, his eyes steely as he scanned the room.

“Who among you is Paul Matthews?” He demanded, his tone professional.

Emma froze, glancing up at Paul, taking in the fear in his eyes that grew. Fear burned in her heart making her feel as though she might grow sick at any moment.

Paul’s eyes widened as he looked from the captain to Emma. In his eyes, she could see more fear and confusion as locked his gaze onto hers.

“I-I am, sir,” Paul spoke, his voice shaky as he held Emma’s hand tighter.

The captain turned to one of his fellow officers, “Take him.”

Emma felt her heart skip a beat as the officer stepped forward, a pair of heavy irons in his hands. She tightened her grip on Paul’s and stood in front of him, as to block the officer from reaching him. 

“Paul Matthews,” the captain spoke in a tone that was dead, “By order of the law, I am placing you under arrest.”

“On what charges?!?” She demanded, standing more fully between the officer and Paul. 

“That information is private, mademoiselle,” the Captain barked, “Now, stand aside.” 

"I demand an explanation!" Paul's father shouted, standing with difficulty from his place at the head of the table. He steadied himself against the table as a look of fear that Emma could feel in the deepest parts of her heart crossed his face. 

"Again, these are the matters of the law," another officer spoke, his voice exceedingly cross as he shoved past Ted to gain access to Paul. He slowed as Emma extended her arms to the side, blocking his means by which he would be able to take him away. 

She shook her head vehemently, now gripping Paul’s shaky hand tightly behind her.

The captain sighed, “Mademoiselle if you don’t move we shall have to use force.”

She shook her head again, “You're not taking him.”

Paul squeezed her hand gently again, his eyes pleading with her.

“Emma, ” he whispered pleadingly, begging her to not throw herself in harms way “Please.”

She turned to him, holding his hand tightly to her, desperate to never let go. They were so happy...how could it have turned to this so quickly? She begged him silently, not wanting him to leave her sight, “Don’t go, please...please don't…”

She did not earn all this happiness to suddenly have it all taken away in the blink of an eye.

He cupped her jaw, staring into her eyes as the fear was made evident, "Emma, please...I promise this isn't right...I will be back...”

Without thinking, she propped herself up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips, her fear of losing him conveyed through her desperation. For a moment, she forgot that the soldiers were there. This is why she didn't notice the soldiers that had moved around the table until they were ripping Pauls's hands from her face, tearing him away from her.

As she broke away -only because he was pulled away from her- from the kiss against her will, she felt tears form in her eyes as she met his again.

“Emma, ” he whispered as he was pulled away from her, his arms bound in chains behind his back, “I promise- this is a mistake...I promise…”

“N-No…” she whimpered pathetically as he was steered away from her and out the door, despite the protests of Ted and Monsieur Matthews. She moved towards him, trying to grab a hold of his arm, anything to keep him near to her, but she was stopped gently by Ted.

“ _I promise, Em,_ ” Paul shouted desperately, “This is a mistake... _I’ll be back… I promise!_ ”

Within moments, his voice faded from her ears and the deafening clank of the prison carriage being sealed shut sent a chill down her spine.

She felt sick as she saw the shadows cast through the dining room windows pull away.

Her Paul had been arrested for reasons unknown.

She knew when people were arrested, they rarely were found innocent (regardless of whether or not they truly were). Because of this, the cynical as fatalistic part of her mind told her that she would never see Paul again.

God, she couldn't bear it.

Shaking, she sank into her chair burying her face in her hands, silently praying to whatever God that existed to bring Paul back go her.

Refusing to let the tears fall.

\---

Paul was frightened as the carriage pulled through the dark streets of Marseilles, the flickering lamplight casting an almost haunted glow into the carriage. 

He tapped his chained fists together furiously from where they were bound behind his back. 

What the hell had just happened? 

One moment he’d been celebrating his engagement with his father, Ted, and Emma, and the next, he’d been dragged away in chains like he was some kind of criminal. 

He couldn’t think of anything he’d done to warrant the intervention of the Gendarmes. Surely, they had the wrong man. 

Emma’s face...oh, God.

The look of horror on her face as he’d been dragged away from her, pleading with him without using words to not leave her. It was an image that he’d never forget. 

There had been a mistake. 

He’d done nothing wrong. 

He knew he was an innocent man. Surely, they’d understand that. 

He’d tried to ask the Captain where he was being taken, but he was met without an answer as they continued to move him roughly to his destination.

Fear filled his heart. He’d always been untrusting of the city magistrates, with their corrupt nature that Emma always had loved to mock. He’d only known of a few of them, which Ted mentioned in passing with his connections and status. Still, the idea of being arrested and placed in their hands was something he didn’t want to accomplish...and yet, here he was. 

As the carriage came to a stop, he could only feel fearful. He couldn’t think of anything to say to those who’d detained him as he was roughly dragged from the cold confines of the carriage and out into the street, only allowed a singular glimpse of the building he was being ushered into. 

He recognized the pillars of one of the few government buildings within the city. Still, he could recognize predominantly, the imposing figure of one building in particular. A building that belonged to the most feared and infamous magistrate of Marseilles. 

His fate was now in the hands of Wilbur Cross. 

Within a few moments, he was pulled inside the building, feeling very small amongst the dark green wallpaper that seemed to be smiling greedily down at him in its floral patterns. A few candles on sconces made the lighting of the building seem eerie in the way they cast shadows against the walls. 

They came to a set of large white doors with elegant brass filigree embedded into the wood. 

With a gruff breath, one of the guards pulled the doors open and he was roughly shoved inside. 

The room was dimly lit with the roar of a fire. In the center of the room, there was a single, uncomfortable-looking chair, which sat a few yards away from a large black desk. 

He was shoved down into the chair, with the chains removed from his hands quickly. He pulled his raw wrists into his lap and rubbed at the painful skin. 

He sat there for a moment, wary of the eyes of the guards that watched the back of his head, ready to grab him at any second should he attempt to escape. He wouldn’t. He was both too fearful and not fast enough to attempt such a feat. Ted might have been able to do such a thing, but never Paul. 

The sound of the creaky door made him jump, and a slow set of footsteps which rivalled the ticking of a clock entered his ears. 

He felt his heart in his throat as he didn’t dare to turn. He didn’t dare look into the face of the man who held his fate in his hands. 

“Well, well, well…” A man’s voice, similar to a snarl crooned, “What have we here?” 

Paul glanced up to see a man standing behind the desk. His dark hair was slicked back as he sneered down at Paul, a viper-like gaze in his black eyes. Paul felt as though he might die under his eyes.

He wore a light blue waistcoat and jacket that Paul found exceedingly ugly. The vest in itself was patterned with a light green pattern that reminded him of the tentacles of an octopus, or the vines of a poisonous plant. In spite of the man’s poor taste in clothing, Paul knew he was likely going to be doomed. For he was looking in the face of Wilbur Cross. 

“Paul Matthews?” 

Paul nodded, “Yes sir.” 

With an unceremonious nod, Cross took a seat at his desk, playing with a green apple between his palms as he regarded Paul. 

“Do you know why you are here?” the magistrate asked him. 

Paul shook his head, unsure of how to respond. 

“High treason…” the man crooned with a low whistle, “That is a great deal of trouble that you have found yourself in, correct? Your first mate, Danglars attests to your crime.” 

“Treason...n-no, sir…”

“Quiet,” The man snapped, “You will answer my questions, now, monsieur.”

Paul looked down, fear blooming in his heart. 

Treason? 

What had he done to make the authorities believe he’d be willing to forsake his country? Forsake the people he’d grown up amongst. 

“Now,” Cross began, “Answer me this, did you or did you not have any contact with Napoleon Bonaparte when you went ashore?”

“Y-Yes...sir,” Paul stammered, “But I wasn’t alone for the most part...I was accompanied by Count Mondego’s son, Theodore, he can vouch for me!”

“Silence,” The man sneered, “You said you weren’t alone for the most part?” 

“Well...no sir,” Paul stammered, fearful in his words, “He took me aside to give me a letter…”

He stiffened as he realized just what he’d said. 

He’d willingly accepted a letter from an exiled emperor who might have been seeking power in France again. Even though the emperor had claimed the contents of such a letter were innocent, receiving and delivering a letter from an exiled politician was dangerous enough. He internally cursed himself for being so stupid.

“He gave you a letter?” Cross asked, his eyes seeming intrigued, “What were its contents?” 

“He claimed it was a letter for an old army friend, he was supposed to find me-”

“Did you read this letter?” 

Paul shook his head, “N-No, sir...I cannot read.”

Cross clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he looked down at the papers in front of him, “So...you presumed the contents of this letter to be innocent, and agreed to deliver it?” 

“Y-yes, sir,” Paul nodded slowly, staring down at his feet. He knew he was innocent. He had to be. He’d done nothing wrong.

Cross moved to stand in front of his desk, “Did you deliver this letter?” 

Paul suddenly looked up. 

He hadn’t!

Perhaps there was a chance for him to be free of this issue. 

“No. No sir,” he nodded, “I still have it!”

Quickly, and with shaky hands, he withdrew the letter from his pocket, holding up the sealed letter for the man to see. Quickly, the captain that had detained him, tugged the letter free from his grasp, and handed it to the magistrate. 

Meticulously, the snake-like man pulled open the letter, freeing the stiff wax seal from the paper. As he pulled it open, Paul studied the way in which the man’s eyes scanned the paper’s contents, looking as if he’d been entertained with each word he was able to read. As the man’s dark eyes widened, Paul only grew more and more fearful, rather than the relief he should have known.

After a while, the man released a low whistle, “Have you shown this to anyone else?” 

Paul shook his head slowly as Cross laughed again, his eyes seeming thoroughly joyous at the frantic way his prey’s eyes didn’t leave the letter in his hands.

Magistrate Cross whistled lowly again, “Well...I’m sorry to have to tell you this, my boy, but this is a detailed description of the guard habits on Elba...instructing Bonapartists how to rescue the emperor.”

“I-what?” Paul began, fear making his heart race in his chest, “He swore to me that they- I didn’t know...he said the contents were innocent!” 

After a moment of silence, Cross leaned against the mantle, staring into the flames with deep thoughts. 

“A monsieur... what?” Cross interrupted, “Did the emperor tell you who you were to deliver this to? Did this man have a name?” 

“Oh, yes sir,” Paul nodded, desperate to provide any information that would acquit him of any and all crimes that were levied against him, “A monsieur Clarion.”

Cross’ eyes darkened suddenly, before an impish smile crossed his face. 

“Clarion, you said?” 

Paul nodded, “Yes sir, though I don’t…”

“Captain,” Cross interrupted Paul with a glare in his eyes as he threw the letter into the fire, “Escort the prisoner to the carriage for processing.”

Anxiety flared in Paul's mind as he leaped to his feet.

“Please, sir!” he pleaded with the greasy man, desperation filling his every vein, “Please, _I’m innocent!_ ”

He couldn’t believe his ears. He’d known he was innocent. There was no malice in his intent! Surely this man, whose eyes seemed to bore into Paul’s very soul, could see that. Surely he knew that he was innocent.

“Ah yes, I know,” Cross chided him, as guards rushed forward to grab Paul’s arms and chain them in irons once more, his eyes not leaving the embers of the letter, burnt to hell, “Which is why we cannot let you go.” 

Paul couldn’t understand the meaning in his words as his sore wrists were confined to heavy chains. 

“Please!” He shouted again as the captain began to drag him away from the room, “Please...I have a father who needs me...a fiancee…”

“I’m well aware of that, Monsieur,” Cross crooned, looking up from the fire as the scorn of hell burned in his eyes, “But I do not care.”

Paul had no response other than a cry of pain as the officer behind him kicked in his knees and dragged him across the cold floor. He tried to struggle against the hold of the men, trying to give any efforts he could to get away, his thoughts flying to his father. To Emma. 

_Oh, God, Emma…_

He couldn’t abandon her. 

He’d never forgive himself for such a sin. He had to get back to her. He’d made a promise to her and he was determined to see it through…

In spite of his ceaseless thrashing, the weight of the chains and the pain in his legs kept him from freeing himself, and he was dragged limply to a life he never wanted for himself. A life that he could only imagine the horrors that awaited him. 

He couldn’t make sense of anything he was saying, in his pleas to the guards and captain to free him. Surely they knew, judging from what they’d seen that Paul was innocent as well! Surely these men had a sense of justice upon them!

These thoughts were all negated as he was thrown into the black prison carriage, the iron bars betraying his condemnation to him.

As he hit the cold metal of the floor, hitting his head against the hard material, the deafening slam of the door made his ears ring. Pain exploded in his head and black stars danced in his vision.

As he began to lose consciousness, he could only think one desperate, final thought.

_Emma, I’m sorry._

\---

Ted grinned to the golden light of the seedy tavern as he made his way to the back wall, signalling to the barmaid to bring him a drink. 

He glanced at the farthest back table and saw the shadowy figures of his company. 

He made his way slowly, smiling at the sly figures with whom he’d probably conducted the darkest deeds of his whole life. Not that it mattered. They’d gotten away with it, if this meeting proved to be beneficial.

Taking his seat at the table he regarded the two men.

One was Sam Danglars. The other was Wilbur Cross.

“It is done?” the copper-haired bastard asked the snake-like magistrate.

Expectantly, Ted turned to Wilbur, awaiting the report that would define whether or not he’d achieved what he’d been lusting after for several years. 

Reluctantly, the sly figure of the magistrate nodded, taking a small bite out of a green apple he’d obviously brought along, “Paul Matthews has been found guilty of high treason and will be on the first ship for a lifetime in the Chateau D’If.”

“And the evidence?” Ted prompted him further. 

“Burned away to hell,” Cross nodded, “Which would be a kinder fate for Matthews than the one we’ve sent him to.”

Though anyone of sense would have been shocked at the revelation, Ted was not the least bit concerned. The idea of a close friend being tried and sentenced to a life in a place that might as well have been synonymous with hell would have scandalized even the dirtiest of souls. Fortunately for Ted and his companions, they went beyond that. 

Sam smiled, “Then we all have what we want…”

“I have my reputation,” Cross muttered, taking another bite out of his apple, “And a means by which I can get rid of my father...Paul’s Monsieur Clarion.”

“I have my ship,” Sam grinned.

“And I,” Ted smiled, holding up his hand in a ceremonial gesture, “Shall have Emma.”

As the men celebrated with their drinks, they couldn’t care less about the lives they’d shattered. 

It had been simple really, in Ted’s mind. 

After Paul had been taken aside by the emperor, Ted couldn’t resist the temptation to peer out onto the rocks on which the two men had stood, watching as the damning letter was handed to Paul and placed secretly in his coat pocket.

Paul, of course, had been stupid enough to fall asleep whilst waiting on the word of the doctor, which therefore gave Ted a means by which he was able to read the letter...and in doing so, finding a glorious trove of opportunity.

He’d not known what he’d found, however, until he’d relayed the entire affair to Danglars, who’d had enough with Paul’s righteous attitude and fortune. Though Ted could share in the sentiment of jealousy towards Paul’s good endeavors, especially in his romance with the beautiful Emma, Ted had internalized it better. The raging hatred Danglars exhibited, however, had truly blessed Ted in the idea that would rid him of Paul’s dreadful happiness for all time. 

The plot was simple, really, in Sam’s mind. 

Carrying information regarding Napoleon to Bonapartists was treason. Treason, that Paul had unwittingly caught himself up in. If they had the right magistrate, and the right moment, they would allow Paul to be taken away and all of their problems solved. They’d all have their deepest desires fulfilled. 

When Ted mentioned the name Clarion, as was inscribed on the letter, Sam had remembered that the name was also borne by the father of the city magistrate, Wilbur Cross. Upon presenting this intel to Cross himself, they’d presented him with a means by which his spotless reputation to be maintained, even offering a convenient murder of Cross’ traitorous father as a means of cleaning things up. Much to their surprise, Cross had agreed. 

Within a few short hours, their plan was conceived and Paul was arrested while celebrating the happiest events of his life and Cross would condemn him regardless of the innocence the poor fool would convey. 

Ted would be lying if he claimed he found no satisfaction from hearing about Paul’s fate. In fact, the idea of being rid of that raging goody-two-shoes forever was quite thrilling to him. 

All he needed to do was provide the correct sympathy here and there, and Emma would inevitably be his. 

In that darkness, the three of them toasted to Paul, to the way he’d given them his good luck, and didn’t feel an ounce of pity for him as he was thrown into the tortuous dark. 

What difference did it make that Paul was the only one who knew of his innocence that was willing to admit it?

He was weak, and now he was on his way to a prison he’d never escape from. 

The story would remain that Paul Matthews was a disgraced traitor. People would only associate the name with scandal and ruin, and it would never change as long as Cross, Danglars, and Mondego kept their mouths shut and kept Paul buried. 

After all, history was a story told by the people who survived. 

And Paul, he figured, wouldn’t survive the week. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma love each other and need hugs.  
> Ted, Sam, and Wilbur are all bastards for doing this to them. 
> 
> This chapter was extremely easy to write and the latest chapter on OTOLI has been a grind to write so I figured I might as well post something. I hope this made sense and was okay!!
> 
> Please leave comments and/or kudos if so desired to let me know what you think!! I would greatly appreciate it!! 
> 
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> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! :) :) 
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	4. I Will Be There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma tries to hope.  
> Paul refuses to get used to his new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SWEAR I DIDNT FORGET ABOUT THIS FIC!!!  
> So sorry that this one took so long!!! I’ve just been focusing on my other fic series, and then I hit a state of writers block which made inching through this one kinda rough!!!!
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from the COMC musical and it’s one of my favorite songs on the album, so even though this is kinda a filler chapter, I hope you like it!!!
> 
> !!TRIGGER WARNING!!: Ted, brutality, power abuse , physical abuse

Emma's knees were sore from the many hours she'd spent there. Kneeling before the family images of the saints and angels she'd never believed in before these events.

She didn't care about the soreness. If this was what it took, she would kneel before these saints and pray for Paul's return for as long as she needed.

It had been seven days since Paul had been dragged away from his father’s dinner table for reasons she didn't know. The day before hadn't been much better.

Ted had apparently gone to the magistrate, a man called Cross, a few hours after Paul had been taken…

_“I waited for hours, Emma, ” Ted sighed, leaning against the mantle in the drawing-room, “When I finally did get to see Monsieur Cross, he told me the worst…”_

_He closed his eyes in pain as he looked off to the side, making her eyes fill with tears._

_Her mind raced as she feared the worst._

_Had Paul been found guilty of something?_

_Had he already been sent off to a dark and desolate prison?_

_Oh God...what if he’d been executed and she didn't even know it…?_

_She refused to voice these anxieties to Ted and only moved forward, keeping her voice calm, “Tell me.”_

_Ted sighed and turned to her, a defeated look in his eyes, “Apparently, Paul has been found guilty of high treason.”_

_Her heart dropped in her chest, “Treason?”_

_“For being a Bonapartist…” he sighed, “And murder.”_

_“Murder?!?” She exclaimed, “Paul would never-”_

_“Once he was found guilty,” Ted explained, “He tried to escape, and killed one of the Magistrate’s men...they shipped him off to a prison, and wouldn’t tell me where it was.”_

_She sank into her chair, raising a hand to her forehead, “That’s all?”_

_He nodded, gravely, “I think our Paul is lost forever.”_

_No._

_She couldn’t believe that._

_To believe that would be to accept defeat, and she would never give in._

_She shook her head, “Is there any way you can get me in contact with your father? Or one of his associates? Baron LeTrouvier for example?”_

_“My...father’s in Paris,” Ted murmured, his eyebrows rising high on his forehead, “Why? What do you-”_

_“I’m gonna see if there’s anything they can do for him,” Emma murmured, running past him and to the writing desk, “I can pen a letter to him right now...and Tom can attest to Paul’s character…” her words faded into intelligible mumbling as her thoughts raced._

_She couldn’t believe this._

_Paul was innocent. Any man who knew him knew that Paul was incapable of committing such treasonous and heinous acts. He was an honest and true man, who didn’t deserve the torment and condemnation that he was receiving._

_She turned to Ted, “And they wouldn’t tell you where he is?”_

_“Not a word,” Ted shook his head, “Emma… has it occurred you that perhaps...maybe the offenses have merit-”_

_“You can’t be serious?!” she shouted, “Paul would never do such a thing!”_

_“I never said anything of the sort!” he hissed, “I’m merely saying that it is in the hands of the law itself…”_

_“The law,” she scoffed, “The law would condemn an innocent man more often than a guilty one if it meant they could put someone behind bars.”_

_“You can’t mean that, Emma,” Ted tried to reason._

_“Oh, yes I can,” she snarled, “I would sooner curse the name of the law than believe that Paul was guilty! And I would believe that you, calling yourself his friend would do the same!”_

_Ted sighed, “Emma...I’m doing what I can…”_

_“Are you sure?” Emma tried to keep her voice from ascending into hysterics, “With each passing minute, Paul is spending a life in prison for a crime he would never commit. He’s being held hostage for something that wasn’t his fault. Neither of us are doing what we can because if that were true, Paul would be standing here, right now!”_

_God, if she was a man she would have marched right up to Monsieur Cross’ office right now and demand that he be released. If she were a man, she would never have had to worry about having to use the few men in power that surrounded her just to hear one sliver of information about her lover who’d been sent off to God-only-knew-where._

_She looked at Ted, biting down on her lower lip, “I’m sorry...I just…” What could she do? She couldn’t even begin to describe the pain that wrecked her day by day. With each passing moment she felt as though Paul was growing farther and farther away from her and she couldn’t bear it._

_Paul was a_ good _man._

_He was imperfect, yes, but he was good. He was kind where others were not and gentle in times where the world most certainly wasn’t. When she met him she didn’t think anything could soften her heart in the ways that he had, and yet, here she was. Now that she had let him into her soul, he was there, chipping away at it the farther he was taken away._

_Ted sighed in what might have been understanding. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder which she shrugged off, not wanting to feel his false sympathy._

_“I’m sorry…” Ted whispered, “You’re right of course, he’s my friend...and I cannot allow him to suffer in the ways that he has.”_

_She nodded, to which he straightened and stared off into the distance, “I will see if there is anything more that I can get from my father and Monsieur Cross...as we have been recently, acquainted…”_

_“Then I’ll go with you!” she exclaimed, wanting nothing more than to be involved. She felt so useless, sitting there in a frock, staring wistfully out the window as worry peeled away at who she was. She couldn’t even begin to believe that this had become her life. She wanted to be useful. She wanted to save Paul and bring him back in any way that she could._

_“No... no, Emma…” Ted said quickly, “I will give you news as it comes…”_

_“But I need to help!” she said, anger rising in her voice, “He needs my help as much as he needs yours!”_

_“Yes, but what can you do?” he asked her, “What do you have to offer that could possibly persuade any magistrate?”_

_She fought against the bitter taste in her mouth as she considered his words. He was right, of course. She was a woman. Nothing she said or did would sway anybody to her side. They would only consider her antics hysterical. They would see her locked away before they did anything to help Paul._

_“I understand your concern, Emma,” Ted said, placing his hand on her shoulder and ignoring her attempts to remove it, “But please...let me handle this...I’ll do all that I can.”_

_Every fiber of her soul was demanding justice. Demanding that she go out into the world and not stop until Paul Matthews was brought home safely and alive. She wanted so desperately to do anything she could that would speed the process up, but despite her inability to outwardly admit it, he was right._

_“Go…” she uttered, beckoning him to make good on his promise._

_He nodded respectfully and pressed a kiss to her cheek that she felt too tired to repel in disgust. As he left she turned to look at him._

_“Ted!” she called after him as he left, biting down any inclination to tell him not to screw this up and condemn Paul any further, rather she offered him a gesture of gratitude, “Thank you...I shall never forget your kindness.”_

_With a small grin and nod, he turned on his heel and left, leaving her, feeling useless in the drawing room._

Knowing that she could do nothing but pray and hope for the best made her exceedingly angry. She’d never before felt so useless in her entire life. Still, if there was any merit to what all the preachers and priests on Sundays would loudly proclaim to their parishes, she was willing to believe anything in favor of a miracle. So, there she remained, on her knees. Praying to every saint imaginable for various reasons. For safety, security, health, and wellness. That his suffering would not be prolonged, and that he would be returned safely to her. She would confess any sins she had, she would attend any mass she could, if it would allow God to take pity on her and Paul, and return him to her.

The days seemed to drag on, and it felt almost as if her own pain had become an ever-tightening knot in her stomach, making her wake to nausea and chills as the reminder that she may never again see those bright blue eyes again overtook her. Her father’s servants begged her to eat, but she refused, too consumed by worry and waiting to properly consider something that seemed so trivial.

Tom would come by occasionally to check up on her, bringing Tim with her to lighten her spirits. Then, as Tim would play by the fire, Tom would update her on _his_ efforts to get an answer about Paul. Because Tom was Paul’s employee, he had gone with Paul’s father to Monsieur Cross’ offices and pleaded with the man to reconsider his verdict. Even though Tom was a man of well renown in the town itself, his connections had gotten him next to nowhere, and over the course of the week Tom and Monsieur Matthews had been met by closed doors.

Like Ted had done days before, she, Tom, Ted, and Paul’s father had stopped by the Cross office to beg for the man’s help and plead Paul’s case once more, actually laying eyes on the man who’d condemned her Paul to life in prison. The greasy man, with more in common with a viper than a person, had merely offered them his half-hearted sympathies and ushered them away, only allowing Ted to remain for less than two minutes to ask about Paul’s case, before he too was thrown out. Upon laying her eyes on the man and only using what opportunities she was given to speak, she had to hold back every vicious word she’d had poised for the man, ready to call him a corrupt villain condemning an innocent man to hell. She bit back every ounce of venom for the sake of maintaining Paul’s reputation, trying to play as nice as she could to give Paul his best chance. 

Every single day she sat there, praying and waiting, almost hardwired to do nothing else in times where she felt her heart and soul was left out on a precipice, waiting for news that would either pull it back to the edge or send her heart spiraling to the bottom of a despairing gorge. 

She wanted nothing more than to scream out into the world so that Paul might hear her. 

She would shout how much she loved him and how she would never abandon him. She didn’t care if her loyalty to him forsook her own name, she would never abandon the joy and love that they shared for anything in the world.

She only hoped that he knew she would be there for him, even though she was so far away from him, she would be beside him through every lonely night. She prayed that when he closed his eyes, he would remember her embrace. She’d be there for him like freedom, and it would find him through it all.

She wouldn’t move. She didn’t care if she spent the next few years of her life raising hell at Cross’ doorstep. She would rush out to meet the post. She would ask as many people as she could until she made sure the name of Paul Matthews wasn’t forgotten. She would be there waiting for the day that he’d be back, standing right at the door. 

She knew it was stupid to hope for as much. No matter how many people like Ted begged her to move on, suggesting that she was wasting her time in waiting, 

She would pay them no mind. 

She would swear it on her life.

She’d be there.

Always.

—

Paul was unable to comprehend the scream that had ripped itself from his throat as the searing pain of the brand was brought down onto his exposed back. There, the burning stayed and smoldered, and the smell of burning flesh made him feel like he was going to vomit.

He strained against the chains that held him up, in his new home, the Chateau D’If. 

He couldn’t tell how long he’d been in the island prison, as the window he’d had in his cell resembled more of a barred-off chimney than a window, but in the time he had he’d been beaten numerous times, with the promise of more pain coming. He’d lost count of the times the crack of a whip had entered his ears, scaring everything out of him as the pain made itself known. 

Once the brand was pulled from his back, he inhaled sharply, a deep breath entering his lungs and allowing him to withstand some of the terrifying pain that still burned and singed his back. The hot iron leaving its permanent scar on his back, alongside some of the still-healing lashes he’d earned at the hand of the sadistic wardens and guards. 

He’d barely caught his breath, rough hands grabbed his wrists, freeing him from the shackled and dropping him carelessly to the cold ground, his vision spinning as he writhed in pain. The cool ground was somewhat comforting against the wounds, but he knew that the pain was only just beginning. 

A heavy boot came into contact with his ribs, making him lose his breath while the warden, standing above him chuckled maliciously, not caring about the man’s soft cries of pain. 

Monsieur Armond Dorleac had introduced himself to Paul upo his arrival under the facade of false pleasantries, looking down at Paul from behind his oak desk, reminding Paul very much of Monsieur Cross before he had ordered that Paul be sent away. The man had taken Paul’s pleas that he was innocent with a grain of salt and nodded along, laughing, telling him that it didn’t matter whether he was innocent or not. He’d said that the majority of the prisoners in the Chateau D’If were innocent, that their imprisonment was really just a way for the wealthy and corrupt to hide their shame. He’d then taken Paul on a tour, walking him through hallways where the sounds of screams of other people...innocent people, like him, were suffering. Had he not been terrified for his life, anger would have filled him. 

“Buck up, man,” the Warden crooned from behind him, “This is your home now, Matthews...with this welcome wagon, you’d best be used to it”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this to be the life that he was living. 

The Warden kicked him again, smiling cruelly down at his shivering frame against the dirty cobblestone floor, the stench of the place matching his cologne. Paul didn’t look up at him. He wouldn’t give the evil man the satisfaction. He couldn’t allow himself to be broken. He wouldn’t. 

Monsieur Dorleac chuckled, “You can’t allow yourself to hope, Matthews…it does nothing.”

Paul didn’t say anything, making the older man scoff. 

“Cheer up, man!” the man exclaimed under a load of sarcasm and false cheeriness, “Perhaps you can make new friends in the cobblestones on your wall!”

Once more, he landed a heavy and painful kick at Paul’s back, making Paul curl in more on himself with a pained yelp as his back screamed and protested. The warden leaned down to meet his eyes and Paul closed them, almost as if he were a terrified child, not wanting to look at the monster under his bed.

“Look at me,” the Warden growled. 

Paul didn’t. This angered the Warden, who then landed a sharp slap across Paul’s face. 

“I said,” he whispered, “ _Look at me.”_

Slowly, Paul opened his eyes, meeting the disgusting face and rotting teeth of the man, making him grin. The man held up the iron instrument that he had used to exact more pain on Paul in the past hours. 

“See this?” he said, gesturing to it, “This tells the world that you belong to us now...there’s not a place you will go where people won’t know that you belong to the Chateau D’If. Innocent or not, the world sees you as a criminal now...get used to it.” 

With that, he left, slamming the door behind him, leaving Paul limp against the ground as he shook, fighting back tears as his back burned.

Guilt clawed away at his mind as his mind wandered to Emma and his father. 

He’d left them behind. 

His father was too old and sick to work, which was another reason why so much of Paul’s earnings went to supporting his father rather than himself and Emma. He knew his father would worry... and the shame of having a son imprisoned for treason...that would surely break his father’s heart. 

And then...Emma. 

Surely, any reputation she might have had would have been tainted once the news of Paul’s arrest reached the far corners of the city. She was in love with a man condemned for conspiracy and espionage, and he was now a prisoner to be kept in the dark. If she had any respect for herself and her social status, she would forget about him, and that idea filled him to the brim with fear and disgust at himself. 

How could he have been so stupid?

He had been so trusting in the ability of human beings to be decent, and it had only gotten him here, without a home, without a nation that would support him, without Emma. 

He felt weak. 

Surely, the people he cared about were fighting for him, right? They knew he was innocent. They knew he wasn’t capable of committing such acts. They wouldn’t want him to rot in the dark...right?

He couldn’t do much other than hope, knowing full well that it was foolish. 

So, on days when it was chosen that he would be the Warden’s next victim, he would think only of Emma. 

Her smile. Her laugh. Her biting wit. The way she didn’t care what people thought of her. How spunky she could be, but underneath lay a great deal of sweetness that so many were not privy to. 

He knew it was selfish of him to believe that she might wait for him...but he couldn’t help himself from hoping. 

She was every reason he had to continue working, hoping, and surviving. 

He could only hope she felt the same.

It was silly he knew. She should have the chance to move on, forgetting his name, living her life. She deserved someone who wouldn’t bring the shame of conspiracy with him. No, she deserved better than him. 

He’d known that the day they’d started courting. She was a class above his own. He was a motherless and penniless son of a clerk, who was barely bringing enough in to feed them both. Of course, she said that didn’t matter to her, that she loved him because he was himself, but he knew she could do better than him. He could only try to be deserving of her. 

Still, he couldn’t give up the hope that one day, he’d be free. 

One day he’d be free. 

He’d go back to Marseilles, and she’d be there. 

She’d be there...he had faith. And he’d do everything in his power to be worthy of her. To make sure she didn’t feel the shame of being engaged to him. He wanted so badly to be there with her, missing her terribly from the moment he’d been dragged away from his father’s table. 

He curled in on himself tighter as he remembered the promises they’d made to one another on the beach. Back when things were soft and light...when moments were tender and gentle and the only thing he worried about was if she’d say yes when he asked her to marry him. Back when her arms were the only place he wanted to be. Back when all he wanted to do was give her a reason to smile, to laugh, to make her happy...something he loved doing and wanted to do for the rest of his life. 

Where was she now, he wondered. Was she sitting there like him, at her home, thinking of him. He wondered if she hoped that he’d come home to her too. She must have, right? Emma wouldn't give up on him. He wouldn’t bet against that for the world. 

So, instead of revelling in the sorrow that Monsieur Dorleac wanted to inflict upon him, he thought of Emma, and instantly was filled with a warmth that reminded him of the comforts of home, of happier times. The more he thought about her warm brown eyes, the more the burning on his back seemed to seep away, providing even joy in the most desolate of times.

And he resolved that he’d be there for her.

Even from oceans away, he would be there like mercy, finding her through all of the tough times in life. He would close his eyes and think of her warm embrace, hoping that she was doing the same.

He would swear it on his soul.

He would be there.

Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that being a filler chapter, but the plots really gonna start picking up speed.
> 
> *shameless self-plug*  
> If you like historical Paulkins, because I lack self-control, I’ve also started a noir Paulkins Au called “Whispers of Arsenic and Anarchy”. No pressure to check it out, but if you’re interested feel free to read it!!!
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos if you would like!! I really value your feedback, so if you have anything for me, I’d be glad to hear it!!! I really appreciate you guys taking the time to read my work!!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!! Sorry that this update took so long but I promise I am NOT abandoning this fic!!!
> 
> Please have a safe and wonderful day!!!
> 
> My tumblr:@ShhImAvoidingSleep


	5. Every Day a Little Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul starts to think about how he ended up here.
> 
> Emma refuses to lose hope.
> 
> Ted is impatient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!TRIGGER WARNING!!: Ted’s entire chapter is him being misogynistic and a terrible person, mentions of beatings, death

Paul knew that scratching lines into the wall would do him no good. 

This was largely due to the fact that every time he scratched one, he found himself compelled to scratch another and another, almost as if he was accumulating enough lines to repay whatever debt it was that he owed the universe, which then, completely nullified the purpose of keeping those lines there in keeping track of how long he’d been there. It hadn’t been very long, he knew, perhaps a few weeks, though, his mental count was probably not best. Part of him was hoping that somewhere out there, one of his friends was trying to get him free. After all, Ted was a Count’s son, he had influences in all the right places...perhaps he would come to his aid? Or maybe he wouldn’t.

Thankfully, Monsieur Dorleac had gotten bored of coming into his cell to supposedly ‘get the new prisoner acquainted with the Chateau D’If’ and had left Paul in some state of peace for the previous few days. He’d lost count. All he knew were days when there would be light coming from the small window and darkness. The sound of the sea that surrounded the tall stronghold was so faint, and often drowned out by the screams of his fellow prisoners often. He had to get used to that sound. Sometimes in the night, he would hear someone screaming and cover his ears, curling in on himself to prevent the sounds from reaching him, trying to protect himself from the darkness that threatened to reach into his cell and pull him into the dark. 

He tried to focus on Emma’s face, trying to paint a picture of it in his mind. She Was everything to him, and she made all of the pain go away. Though the wounds on his back from the thrashing of whips and clubs would undoubtedly scar him, and were still raw and angry in the way they would send their shocks of pain across his body, the memory of her, her soft curves and biting edges of her personality would be enough to make it seem like he was never in pain to begin with. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about what was said to him before he was taken away. 

He’d told them that he was innocent. He’d pleaded with Monsieur Cross not to have him taken away. 

The man’s response had been, “ _Ah yes, I know. Which is why we cannot let you go._ ” 

What on Earth did that mean? 

Obviously the man was corrupt on some level, but what did he have to fear from a mere sailor? What benefit would jailing Paul give the man? Or Sam Danglars, for that matter?

Of course, Danglars would have wanted him to be jailed, as it would guarantee that he would become Captain at some point, with Paul out of the way he would be able to gain position and therefore wealth. Not that he did it to impress his wife. Anybody in Marseilles knew that Sam’s marriage to his wife, Charlotte was not a happy one. Paul even knew that Ted had taken it upon himself to seduce the meek woman, just in a way of sticking up his nose at Danglars. Danglars was an opportunist and a villain but he wasn’t nearly smart enough to figure out what had happened between him and Napoleon, and use it to his own advantage. 

So what had really happened?

Regardless of how these questions paced the realms of his mind, he felt as if a little bit more of him died with each passing day. 

Every single day felt as if Death was his only companion in his cell, pacing the floor endlessly as what was left of him seemed to be chipped away. 

He could only see that he wasn’t himself without Emma.

\---

“He will come back!” Emma declared, practically running away from Ted as she retreated through the halls of her house, furious that Ted had come again to argue that the chances of Paul returning were slim.

“Perhaps,” Ted reasoned, following her into the drawing room, “But still-”

“He will return to me!” she cut him off, fiddling with the small ring that she and Paul had made together, “I need to go pray…”

“What good is praying doing you, Emma?” Ted demanded, “I’ve tried every single outlet to plead Paul’s case and there’s been nothing...okay?”

“Then praying is doing me more good than you are!” she shouted, shaking with anger, “If we’ve tried everything, then Paul would be here! Paul would be here! He wouldn’t be off in some godforsaken…” she trailed off as she tried to collect herself. 

She’d been filled with nothing but anguish and anger at the world these past few weeks. It had now been three weeks since Paul had been taken away and Emma was furious with the world. It now seemed like everyone who’d known Paul to be a good and honest man had given up on him. Ted had even started to look like he was starting to believe the allegations that had been levied against the man she thought he knew better than anyone. 

She couldn’t bring herself to believe it. 

He was a good man. An innocent man. And he was going to come back to her. 

Ted’s face softened, if the man could grow soft at all, “I’m sorry, Emma...I’ll keep trying harder…”

“Will you?” she demanded of him, trying very hard to keep herself from crying in front of him.

He sighed and looked down, “Paul’s my friend, you know...I’d never want to see his name in disgrace.” 

_Too late,_ she thought bitterly as she stared him down. They lapsed into silence as the weight of the situation seemed to settle down upon them all at once. 

Paul was somewhere out there in the world. Being held captive for crimes that he’d never commit. She couldn’t help but indulge some of the fears that would spend their time gnawing away at her mind in the evening when she would get little rest. Was he alone and afraid, wherever he was? Did he know she wasn’t going to give up? Did he remember the promises she’d made to him before they were unjustly ripped away from one another? Or did he worry she’d forgotten them? 

He should have never been arrested to begin with. 

Paul Matthews was many things but a traitor was not one of them.

No...Paul Matthews was a good man. He was kind and sweet. Flawed, of course, but so endearingly so in the way that he would regard other people. He was a little socially awkward, but the way that he carried himself through his everyday life only endeared himself further to her. God, she missed him with her whole being, and every part of her soul screamed out in indignance at the fact that she didn’t know where he was. 

She fought against a pang of bitterness and guilt that welled up in her chest at the look on Ted’s face. He was Paul’s friend, wasn’t he? He had wanted to see Paul freed, right? 

She sighed and stared at the ground, he had to have been trying his best. Of course, there was only so much they could do with what they had. Honestly, the only thing that was keeping Emma from organizing a prison break was the fact that nobody would tell Emma where he was.

God, if she only knew where he was, perhaps she could send a letter of appeal to the warden...or perhaps she could present evidence to support the fact that he was in fact, innocent. But what evidence would that be? Where would she get it? How would she know if it was valid? And would it be enough to free him? 

She just wanted him to know that she was still there for him. 

“You have to live for today, Emma,” Ted tried to reason, breaking the terse silence that had only grown between them, “Waiting and worrying will not help you...or Paul.”

“I’ll live when we’re together again,” Emma said, “And every day until then, I’ll pray for his safe return.”

Ted sighed and shook his head, “I never knew such circumstances would make a believer out of you.”

That gave Emma pause. 

Was she a believer? 

Back when she was a child. Her parents loved to shuffle her and Jane off to mass every so often. Emma had never understood it, to be honest. But with this, she was willing to believe in anything to get Paul back. She didn’t care if she had to confess every sin she'd committed, or had to bruise her knees daily as she would spend hours kneeling before the blessed mother, other saints, and icons to get him back. People claimed that prayer worked, and that God was in everything...if that were true, she’d pray as long as she needed to in order to get Paul back. 

She’d paid visits to Paul’s father daily, who’d taken ill shortly after Paul was taken away. She’d do her best to update him on what she knew and the how efforts to free Paul and have him back with them were going, but everyday it seemed like there was less and less news. Less and less reports to make on what they were going to try. It hurt to watch the old man who’d raised Paul’s eyes lose hope with every single day his son spent in some distant and desolate dark prison. 

Ted sighed again, “I’ll take my leave of you now...but...just be careful, Emma. Don’t let what happened to Paul kill you.”

“You’ll see,” she said, not meeting his eyes as she stared off at nothing in particular, listening to the sound of his footsteps as he started to leave, “One day, he’ll be standing right where you’re standing. He’ll be there. He’ll be here.”

She knew it was foolish to be holding onto such hope. She knew people looked at her as if she was a fool to hold Paul’s name close to her heart in the ways that she did. Anybody in her shoes would have abandoned him the moment things got rough and his name was thrown into disgrace.

She didn’t bother turning around as Ted left, his footsteps 

But that hope was all she had to get her through the day. 

And in the end, it would have to be enough. 

\---

Ted sighed as he walked towards the magistrates building. Of course, he hadn’t gone to see Monsieur Cross as many times as he’d told Emma, which she’d stupidly believed. Of course, the woman was in hysterics, there was no way she’d be able to tell what it was that he’d really been doing. But today….today had been the last straw. 

Three weeks. He thought that would be long enough for everyone to give up on Paul Matthews. It should have been.

Even Paul’s father was starting to believe the rumors that Sam had been spreading shamelessly about Paul’s descent into disgrace. It wouldn’t have surprised Ted if the older Matthews found himself in a grave within the year. The old man hardly left his home anymore and the only visitor he’d receive was Emma...still, Paul’s case would inevitably kill the old man, and Ted couldn’t bring himself to care. 

But Emma...oh, Emma was stubborn. She was blindly willing to waste her whole life in waiting for Paul to come back. 

Somehow that made Ted want her even more. 

He’d stopped himself halfway through this and wondered if the only reason he’d wanted Emma was because Paul had her and Ted didn’t. Of course, Emma was desirable, astonishingly beautiful, and yet she’d picked the son of a clerk to make her happy. Paul had what every man wanted. What he wanted. Therefore, it seemed right for Ted to try and take it for himself. 

But because Emma was so vexingly stubborn, she was unwilling to budge when it came to Paul’s case. No matter how many times he went to her in the mornings, trying to be as tender and sympathetic as he could be, her heart was still set on Paul. 

Paul. 

What the hell did she see in that naive son of a bitch? He wouldn’t be able to provide for her in the ways that he could. He couldn’t give her the life that most women swooned for. Paul had nothing while Ted had everything, and still...Emma chose Paul. 

God, he hated Paul. 

He hated that in spite of having nothing, Paul had everything Ted wanted. 

Paul was happy and willing to work in life only to earn a fraction of what Ted already had. It was because of that that he’d taken so long to even ask Emma to marry him. And Emma was willing to wait for that? Their logic befuddled Ted. Ted could have married Emma within the week if she wanted. He could have given her everything Paul never would. He was far more interesting and skilled than Paul was, and wealthy too. Emma would have never wanted for nothing, and yet, she’d spurned his advances time after time in favor of _Paul Matthews._

God, he’d never understand the mind of Emma. 

Since they were small children, Emma had been one of those untouchable people. She’d never allowed anybody into her company completely. All the time Ted had spent growing up amongst her and her sister had been mostly spent with him trying to make conversation with her, which only made her more appealing in his eyes. Most people discussed her as if she were a spinster in the making, that any man who’d tame the wild beast inside of a young girl’s body would have to be some sort of saint or Petruchio straight out of Shakespeare. How 

Since she’d been a teenager she was absolutely _exquisite,_ any man would have been lucky to have her, and he was determined to be that man. To show the other people who thought she was lovely that he’d been the one to win her. How Paul had done it, he’d never know. 

For one thing, Paul wasn’t assertive by any means...and yet, Emma had allowed him access to her life so easily, he made it seem like everything was...easier than Ted had thought it to be.

Ted had never believed in love. Of course, he had _feelings..._ of a sort. But feelings faded. Needs never did. Sure, even after he married Emma (if she ever was able to overcome her stubborn devotion to Paul people), he could satisfy his needs in the arms of other women...but he would have obtained the thing that Paul loved most in the world, and the satisfaction of that would sustain him for his whole life. 

The only barrier to his plan’s success was Emma. 

Emma. So blindly and hopelessly devoted to Paul. Hanging onto a false hope that Paul would ever return to her. Ted and Cross had made sure that would never happen.

He’d lied to her when he’d said he had no idea where Paul had been taken. Paul was trapped behind walls of iron and stone, a stronghold from which no man would ever escape. A stronghold that was infamous for swallowing any spark of hope within a day of arrival. Paul was weak and foolish. Honestly, if Paul was still alive within the Chateau D’If, Ted would be very surprised. 

He knew Paul was going to waste away into dust the longer he spent within the walls of that stronghold.

Paul was out of the picture, however, but when it came to seducing Emma...well, he was still very much a problem. 

Well, after this visit to Monsieur Cross, that would change. 

\---

_Where was he?_

Emma winced as she forced herself to sit at the window. 

She hadn’t been feeling well that morning, but she still expected Ted to show up as he always had. Every single morning to at the very least attempt to convince her of and she’d taken note of Ted’s habits when it came to visiting her. He’d seemed to make visiting her with sympathy that didn’t seem real. That didn’t seem like he really cared, but owed it to her to put on a sympathetic face anyways. 

She stared into the gloom of the morning, having been overcast by shades of grey and somewhat chilly rain, making the world seem as though it had been swallowed in sadness, reflecting how she felt. The rain had stopped and collected in puddles that marred the streets, making the grey sky reflect in pain splotches around the barely-paved path. If a painting was truly a reflection of how an artist felt, then she might as well have painted the world today.

She sighed as she shifted. He’d said he was going to run by Monsieur Cross’ yesterday, which meant that he’d either come to her with actual news, or just nothing again. Honestly, she’d gotten so used to the reports of nothingness that she half-expected him to walk in, shake his head and return to whatever it was he spent wasting his time. 

Part of her regretted the way she’d lost her temper with him yesterday. She figured he was at the very _least_ trying to help, even if it wasn’t yielding as much as she had hoped for. She knew Paul would be patient. He would have balanced her hot temper out any day. 

God, she was so furious nowadays, but she couldn’t bring herself to lose hope in the fact that Paul was still alive and that they still had a chance of freeing him. 

The day before, she’d gone to visit Paul’s father and tried to talk to him of finding the possible places where Paul might have been taken, but he’d hear nothing of it, only infuriating her even more. 

He was Paul’s _father._

Had everyone lost faith in Paul but her? 

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him. Tried to imagine the soft angles of his face. Tried to imagine the big earnest nature of his eyes. The way he would hold her when she was upset, the feeling of his soft hands on her arms cooling her down, allowing whatever it was that was bothering her to seep away. He always made like he could make everything awful go away. 

She swallowed down the urge to cry as her head began to ache again. 

She missed him. 

It felt as if part of her soul was missing since he’d been pulled away from her. 

He’d promised her that it was all just a misunderstanding as he’d been ripped from her arms. He’d meant every word as well...she could see it in his eyes. He was just as terrified as her in that moment. Just as confused. Just as scared. 

And now everybody in town thought he was a criminal. 

He wasn’t. 

She’d rather die before she let everyone in Marseilles forget about him. Before she let his name fade into nothingness. 

The world would try to forget him, his name painted in whatever record of rumors they kept buried beneath the Earth, but she never would. 

Sometimes she would cast her glance at a blossom of a flower that used to bring her so much joy, and would feel like it lacked the color it used to. The sunshine that the two of them used to spend days together in seemed to grow dimmer as the colors of the world she’d once known and loved had begun to fade into grey. 

The sound of a knock at the front door snapped her from her thoughts as she heard one of her father’s servants answer the door. She threw a shawl over her shoulders and hurried to the front stairwell. It had to be Ted. There was nobody else it could be. 

She hurried to the front foyer and peered down to see not just Ted standing in the foyer...but a second. 

With a chill that ran up her spine, she realized that it was Monsieur Cross...the man who’d condemned her Paul to hell. 

She gritted her teeth and swallowed the acid-like accusations she wanted to hurl at the man as she descended the stairway, trying to at the very least appear like the graceful young lady her mother wanted her to become. 

Ted looked up as she joined the two men in the foyer, “Emma…”

“Gentlemen,” she spoke through gritted teeth, avoiding Ted’s eyes as she turned to face Monsieur Cross directly, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, Monsieur Cross?”

She finally gazed up at the viper-like face of the man who’d sent Paul off to God-only-knew-where and was met by a look of...guilt? 

As she studied the man further, she could see that his eyes were indeed filled with a shade of regret that she was fairly certain that men like Cross were not permitted to wear.

The man looked down, “I’m afraid I come to you, Mademoiselle, on grave matters…”

“Grave matters?” she turned to Ted and saw that his hazel eyes were filled with tears. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing. 

Paul. 

Something had happened. 

Something wasn’t right.

She swallowed hard and looked at Ted, “Ted...what’s happened?”

Ted sniffed and wiped at his eyes, “Emma... _I’m so sorry…_ ”

“Sorry?!” she hated the shakiness of her voice as her eyes darted between the two men. Her heart was a thunderclap in her ears as she felt her breath grow ragged in her chest, trying desperately to maintain her composure, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“Mademoiselle,” Monsieur Cross began, his voice sounding grave, “I regret to inform you of an accident that occurred last week, news of which didn’t reach me until this morning…”

“An accident?” she asked, her voice shaky as she suddenly felt very small. 

“Yes,” the man nodded, “A ship transporting several prisoners was wrecked…”

_No._

“There were dozens of casualties…”

_No. No. No._

_He couldn’t possibly mean…_

“I regret to inform you that your fiance, Paul Matthews was among them…” 

She suddenly couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in her ears. It was as if the world around her was shattered. She could hear both Ted and Monsieur Cross talking, but she couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying. Nothing they had to say mattered. 

_No._

_No._

_No._

_No. No. No. No. No._

_That couldn’t be true._

“It isn’t true,” she whispered weakly, fighting against the tears that were blooming in her eyes, “It’s not true...you...you’re lying…”

“I’m afraid I’m not, mademoiselle,” the man spoke calmly, “I received notification of it this morning.” 

“He’s telling the truth, Emma,” Ted whispered, “I saw the letter myself.”

“Then let me see it!” she demanded, her voice breaking, “If you have proof, let me see it!”

Ted nodded at Monsieur Cross as the man produced a sealed set of papers, the black wax seal already broken. She tore them open and stared down at the smeared ink, tears dripping down her eyes as they fell on the fateful sentence. 

_Please inform the loved ones of Paul Matthews that the aforesaid is deceased._

_No._

_No._

_No._

_This couldn’t be happening._

Tears fell from her eyes, smearing the ink on the page as she shook, staring down at the enat cursive holding the damning words. She dropped the papers as she continued to hear Monsieur Cross and Ted speak. 

“Leave me,” she snarled under her breath as tears poured from her eyes. 

“Emma…” Ted whispered,”Emma...I’m…” 

_“Leave,”_ she whispered, “ _Now…”_

She didn’t meet either of their eyes as they looked at one another. Monsieur Cross bowed respectfully to her, “You have my deepest condolences, miss. I am truly sorry-”

“Don’t…” she began, her whisper deathly quiet, “ _Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Paul…”_

He said nothing more, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes as he turned and left, Ted slowly following him. 

She just stood there and shook as the doors were closed. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

Her worst nightmare was realized. 

Lamely, she stumbled from the foyer and into the drawing room, closing the door behind her with her back as a shaky sob left her. She suddenly felt ill and drowsy as the news sank in. 

Paul. 

Perfectly imperfect Paul. 

The man she’d loved more than anything else. 

The man who was hellbent on giving her something to be proud of despite the fact that she already was. 

The man who made her happier than anything else in the world.

He was dead. 

He died the death of a criminal. 

He didn’t deserve this. 

They hadn’t done enough. 

She hadn’t done enough. 

And now it was too late. 

Because he was dead. 

Her world was shattered.

She sank to the floor as shaky silent sobs built up in her chest, leaving her feeling weak and weightless as the grief came crashing over her. It's waves pulling her beneath it's tumultuous tide. She felt as though she were drowning, her stomach churning and her lungs empty of any air that might have aided her.

Suddenly, the death that seemed to be pacing her whole world had made itself known.

And she could do nothing but weep. 

\---

As the doors to Emma’s father’s house were shut, Ted followed Cross down the front drive. As they walked alongside one another, they walked in silence, the grey that surrounded them making the whole world seem silent. 

Once they were off of the Perkins Property, Cross turned to him. 

“Do you think she bought it?” he asked. 

Ted nodded, “Hope is such a finite thing...the fact that you put it in writing made it official. She doesn’t even know _where_ he was supposed to be, so she’s none the wiser.”

Cross clicked his tongue, “You know...when you first came to me with the allegations, I had no idea why you would want to jail your best friend...but after seeing his exquisite fiancee, I must applaud your efforts.”

Ted smirked, “Now all that’s left is to be such a comfort in her time of grief and anguish.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Cross grinned, “Be a shoulder to cry on...soon you’ll have the wife you want.”

Ted smiled at his own ingenuity, “Indeed.”

As far as the world was concerned, Paul Matthews was dead...now he could have whatever it was that he wanted.

Emma would be his. 

And she would never know that Paul was still alive, rotting slowly away in a cell across the sea. 

Not if he had anything to say about it.

After all...History was a story told by the people who survived...and with everyone thinking Paul was dead...Ted had survived.

Nobody would know that Paul still lived.

Nobody would remember Paul Matthews had ever existed.

Nobody.

Not even Emma.

And Ted smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Paul, he has no idea that Emma and he have been lied to and manipulated.
> 
> Poor Emma...just poor Emma...
> 
> Also, fuck Ted.
> 
> Sorry that the updates for this one have been a little sporadic, but I haven't forgotten!!
> 
> Please leave comments or kudos if you would like!! I'd love to know what you think of this AU!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading my self-indulgent Period!Paulkins fic!! I swear the plot is definitely gonna start picking up speed in the next few chapters, so the next couple ones won't seem like they're fillers.
> 
> Thanks again!! Please have a wonderful day!!!
> 
> My Tumblr:@ShhImAvoidingSleep


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